


Like Father, Like Son; or, 2 Times Somebody Named Aaron Burr was Incredibly Sleep-Deprived

by putconspiraciesinit



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: 1800 US Presidential Election, Character Death, Exhaustion, Gen, Guys Named Aaron Burr Do Not Sleep, Invention of Open Election Campaigns, Overworking, Political Campaigns, Religious Humor, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putconspiraciesinit/pseuds/putconspiraciesinit
Summary: Fun fact, Aaron Burr #1 worked himself to death at age 41 approximately 43 years before his son Aaron Burr #2 *almost* did the exact same thing at age 44. I think that's kinda wild.
Relationships: Aaron Burr & John Swartwout, Aaron Burr & William P. Van Ness
Kudos: 19





	Like Father, Like Son; or, 2 Times Somebody Named Aaron Burr was Incredibly Sleep-Deprived

1757

The door opened, and Dickinson looked up from his desk.

“Ah, Reverend Burr! Good evening!”

“Um...yes, that,” mumbled the unbelievably tired-looking man who had just entered the room.

“Are you feeling quite well, Reverend Burr?”

“Oh, you know,” said the Reverend. He then promptly walked directly into a wall, and then fell over. He made no attempt to stand back up again, instead sitting against the wall. “How are you all doing?”

“Erm,” said Pemberton, turning to face Dickinson, “is he alright, do you think?”

“I  _ think _ ,” said Pierson, “he is  _ sleep-deprived _ .”

“Could you imagine!” cried Dickinson. “Reverend Burr, short on sleep! Unthinkable.”

“I am not short on sleep,” Burr murmured, as though he was unable to speak at a normal volume. “If it were in the Lord’s plan for me to sleep, then surely He would make me do so, as such a thing is well within His power. The fact that I am still currently awake proves that it is in His plan for me to...er,  _ not _ sleep.”

“Do you think that it is in His plan for you to work yourself to death, my dear somewhat mad fellow?” asked Pierson.

“That...that does not actually happen. I simply--” Burr paused to yawn. “I simply do not believe it.”

“You cannot remain awake forever, sir!” said Pemberton.

“Well,” said Burr, “through God, all things are possible. Including, apparently, the great feat of remaining awake for…”

“Oh, no. How long have you been awake for?”

“...Six days! One-hundred and forty-four hours.”

“My  _ God _ .”

***

About a week later, Reverend Burr really  _ did _ succumb to exhaustion and overwork. On his deathbed, he worriedly told his father-in-law,

“I’ve still so much work left to do!”

***

1800

The very instant he was hidden from the small crowd now beginning to disperse, Aaron Burr, Democratic-Republican campaign manager, collapsed, breathing heavily, his whole body shaking. John Swartwout rushed over to help him back to his feet, but it did not work; Burr simply fell right back down.

“You know, I am beginning to think Van Ness was right, Burr,” said Swartwout. “You are clearly exhausted.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine in an hour or so,” panted Burr.

“Are you sure about that?” asked Van Ness, who had just arrived on horseback. “You can’t stand up, can you?”

Burr looked down.

“I will be perfectly fine.”

“I suspected something like this would happen. Swartwout, help him get on the horse, will you? I have a plan.”

Swartwout nodded, lifting Burr up so Van Ness could haul him up onto the horse. Burr did not seem to object--or perhaps he was too weak to struggle.

“Does this plan of yours involve a strategy for interviewing the residents of Brooklyn--”

“It involves you going to  _ sleep _ , Burr, you absolute madman.”

They were well on their way to Richmond Hill when Burr suddenly insisted they stop. He attempted to get off the horse, and succeeded in falling over, then rushed over to a bush a few yards off the road and began retching violently. Van Ness dismounted and ran after him.

“Burr! My God, are you alright?”

“I…” Burr groaned, and for the second time that day found himself lying on the ground shaking and too weak to stand.

***

Swartwout carefully set Burr down in his bed, and pulled the covers over him. Van Ness shut the door.

“You are not going to leave your bed until you have slept for at least twelve hours,” said Van Ness.

“But--”

“You are working yourself to  _ death _ , Burr!” cried Swartwout, on the verge of tears. “You’re always collapsing and fainting and you get sick every time you try to eat! Let us--Van Ness and I and the others--let us do the brunt of the campaigning, just for a couple of days!”

“I’ve still so much work left to do...the party, they--”

“They need you alive, God damn it,” said Van Ness. “You are strictly forbidden to die in the name of Thomas Jefferson’s potential presidency. This is an intervention. Now,  _ go to sleep _ .”


End file.
